Estel
by Bethuviel
Summary: Various one shots of the characters of the quest at various times before, during, and after the war.
1. Chapter 1

Estel

_by Bethuviel_

_**Disclaimer: The estate of J.R.R. Tolkien owns all recognizable characters from the works of literature encompassing **__**The Lord of The Rings**__**. I receive no compensation for any work I have written and/or published on this site.**_

_**Author's note: **__All reviews, whether critical or applauding are appreciated. _

Legolas sat on a old fallen log in the forest of Greenwood the Great. He had risen before the dawn and had left the confines of his father's underground fortress, wanting to greet the new day alone. He felt the need to see the forest slowly come to life under the warm rays of the sun. Legolas hadn't ventured very far and was still within the safety of the perimeter guarded by elven warriors; this helped him to relax. Today he would enjoy the beginning of the dawn and not worry about the slow encroachment of the spiders or their partner, the darkness of the One.

He ran his fingers over the log, feeling the pattern of the trunk. Each tree was different and unique. This particular tree had lived for hundreds of years. He knew it's story well. He remembered the oak as a seedling, vibrant, and joyous with life. He could hear the song it had sang. He remembered the day of it's death, so many years ago. Too late, a spider had been discovered within it's branches. The spider had snatched and feasted upon a defenseless elfling who had escaped from his mother and had gone outside to play. Legolas sighed as he patted the tree. The old oak had mourned itself to death, refusing to live after the incident. His father, Thranduil, had implemented the new perimeter and the guarding of the realm.

Legolas could recall the days of his youth and running freely through the forest, playing with his friends. Those days were forever gone. His home had been renamed Mirkwood. Legolas understood the solemnity of the name. How had his home gone from Arda as a place of life, to a place of shadows and death?

He felt a warmth upon his shoulders and looked up. The sun had risen and it's rays peeked through the canopy above him. There it was, the promise of hope. The orb had risen again, sure and steady, as it had everyday since it's inception. Legolas smiled. Manwe and the Valar had been wise to devise the ship which carried the last light of the trees through the sky.

Hope. Legolas heard the first stirrings of the forest animals. He heard the chirping of the babies in the nests, spurring the adults to find food. He heard the rabbits in the underbrush, and the deer in the thickets. He breathed deeply and exhaled slowly.

The light of the sun danced across the leaves and foliage around him, sparkling various colors through the prisms of the dew drops that moistened the greenery. He smiled again to himself. He knew that whatever lay before him, he had the courage and the strength of his ancestors flowing within his veins; he would not be alone, and he would overcome.

Legolas wiggled his toes and stretched his legs. Sometimes it just felt good to do that simple act of stretching. He patted the physical remnants of his lost friend beneath him and stood up, wondering briefly if trees had souls that would join them at the end of all things in the great song. Slowly he made his way back into the fortress of his father, squaring his shoulders for the day before him.

There would be meetings and discussions and more meetings. It was going to be a long day, but he felt better mentally, and knew that he would survive the boring drudgery of it all. A visitor was expected that day…Mithrandir. Legolas had not seen him for many decades and looked forward to renewing their friendship. One of the Dunedain would be there as well. He looked forward to meeting him as well. Legolas knew that the Dunedain were the direct descendants of the Numenor and he felt excited at the prospects of meeting one.

He felt hope stir within him again. "Estel," he said aloud, then smiled again. He felt at peace with himself. Hope was in the world again, he could feel it around him, and within in.


	2. Chapter 2

**Aragorn**

_by Bethuviel_

_**Disclaimer: The estate of J.R.R. Tolkien owns all recognizable characters from the works of literature encompassing **__**The Lord of The Rings**__**. I receive no compensation for any work I have written and/or published on this site.**_

_**Author's note: **__All reviews, whether critical or applauding are appreciated. _

_**Author's note: **__The inspiration I'm currently listening to - Annie Lennox, "A Whiter Shade of Pale"_

Aragorn walked slowly, keeping pace with Mithrandir and their prisoner. His years in the wilds of Arda had been a long preparation for the task that still lay before him, daunting him. Though he had achieved much, Aragorn still doubted himself. He did not share these doubts with anyone, except his beloved Arwen, Evenstar to her people the elves, and daughter of the Lord Elrond. Aragorn could not help but love her from the first time he had seen her among the white birch wood trees in Imladris. For her hand in marriage, he would assault the black gates of Mordor itself. He had a feeling that he would see those cursed gates yet. He sighed to himself. That coughing blasphemy was squealing again about the rope around it's neck.

Aragorn did not feel pity for the creature. It was obvious that the thing had been spoiled by the evil of Sauron. What did it call itself? Gollum. Vile creature. Aragorn had not been able to wash since handling Gollum and he felt like the filth of the thing had somehow tarnished him. He laughed when he looked at his hands. Layers of grime had imbedded into the very pores and wrinkles of his skin. He was indeed dirty and looked his part, a ranger from the north.

He liked the identity game he played. He had been known by many names over the years. For this adventure, he would be known simply as Strider, though some in the North called him Longshanks. It did not matter. He knew who he was and what destiny held for him. He dreamed of the day he would be crowned king of Gondor and Arnor. For such a reward meant that at last he would achieve his life's goal, blissful union with the Evenstar. He could at last hold her in his arms and claim her rightfully as his and no other's. She would be his queen, his wife, his lover.

He looked ahead at Mithrandir's back. Aragorn knew that the wizard was not the old man that many mistook him for. But exactly what Mithrandir was, he did not know. He wondered briefly if the bearded man were a Maia, or perhaps even a Vala in disguise. His heart quickened at that thought. The hairs on his arms rose over the goose bumps that had suddenly appeared and his pulse thumped a little harder; to be in the presence of one of the mighty ones! Aragorn lowered his head. He was not worthy of such a bestowing of grace. He was just a dirty, ragged human who aspired to be more than he was at the moment.

The terrain was not quiet as rugged and he could see a thickly foliaged forest ahead of them. He had heard rumors of the place and today he would learn the truth for himself. It was said that large spiders had invaded Greenwood the Great, hence it's change of name to Mirkwood. As Aragorn scanned his eyes over the border of the forest, he thought the place did indeed look dark and forbidding. He could already feel the first waves of Sauron's evil washing over him in a form of despair. He said a quick prayer to Elbereth, invoking her light of protection over him and his companion Mithrandir. He did care to protect Gollum and if they were attacked, he half hoped that the creature was the first to get eaten. He chuckled to himself as he imagined throwing Gollum into the gaping maw of a giant spider. He thought it would be poetic justice of a sort. He stopped his laughter when Mithrandir turned and eyed him harshly from beneath thick bushy brows.

"As your youth has long passed, you should be well aware that this is no time for mirth…" Mithrandir's gravelly voice cut through the thick morning air heavy laden with dew. Aragorn nodded his head in response.

Gently, Aragorn fingered the pendant that hung from his neck. It had been a cherished gift from Arwen. He had given her nothing in return but a solemn promise to fulfill the destiny required of him, and to meet the demands of her father that she would marry no less than the rightful king of men. He knew that to become his wife, Arwen would have to stay behind in middle earth, thus losing her immortality; for Elrond's children were bound by the Valar to Lord Elrond's choice. When the day came that Elrond should choose to sail to Valinor, his children would have to sail with him or lose their immortality. Aragorn dropped his head and looked at his boots.

They were made of leather and well worn, but comfortable. He thought of all the places those boots had carried him; so far away from her, from home. And yet this Middle Earth in its entirety was home. He needed no roof, no pillow for his head, no fence or wall to mark his property or domain. He slept where ever he lay, hunted the land and drank freely from its rivers and streams. He needed no more than the clothes on his back and the sword at his side. This sort of freedom was his, and no one and nothing could take that from him.

Except maybe Sauron. He could not bear the thought of Arwen coming under the oppression of Sauron and his minions. He could not bear the thought of any he loved living under that boot heel of slavery. A snarl curled his lips and he blew out through his nostrils the anger he felt. He would fulfill all that was required of him. He would become the king of men, and reunite the lands.

He stretched out his left hand and shoved a dawdling Gollum forward. "Move on, you." He commanded sternly. It would all begin with that creature.

They were at the forests edge. Aragorn expected to be greeted by the elves of the northern kingdom at any moment. He knew that their king, Thranduil had guards on his borders and looked forward to the meeting. He was curious about this group of elves. Were they different from his adopted father's own people? Were their customs the same? What traditions did they observe? He had heard that these elves had silver hair and desired to look upon them.

Aragorn did not bother to walk quietly, instead cracking leaves and twigs underfoot purposely. He did not try to use stealth nor did he wish for the appearance of it. He wanted them to be aware that he had arrived with his companions.

Mirkwood was different than the forest of Imladris. The under brush was thick, and full of thorns. The air was heavy and smelled musty. The sunlight barely filtered through the tree tops giving shadows dominance. Aragorn did not draw his sword but rested his hand upon it, ready to wield it at a seconds notice. His muscles were taunt and he felt uneasy. He thought the new name fit the forest and longed to be free of it. He wondered how the silvan elves stood to live in such a place.

He had stepped again and the party came to an abrupt stop as an arrow whistled through the air and stuck pointedly in the ground in front of them. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He would at last meet his adopted northern kin.


	3. Chapter 3

**Mithrandir**

_**by Bethuviel**_

_**Disclaimer: The estate of J.R.R. Tolkien owns all recognizable characters from the works of literature encompassing **__**The Lord of The Rings**__**. I receive no compensation for any work I have written and/or published on this site.**_

_**Author's note: **__All reviews, whether critical or applauding are appreciated. _

With a short and quick jerk, Mithrandir pulled on the rope dragging the creature Gollum behind him. He was agitated. He was tired of hearing the constant hissing, begging, lying and pluralizing of every word. Mithrandir stopped, turned around, and lowered his piercing glaze upon his prisoner. The creature's eyes grew large then small as it bent over passively.

"I am out of patience with you. And the wells of my mercy have run dry." Mithrandir paused for effect before continuing, "I would suggest some co-operation if you should like to see the sunrise tomorrow morning, else I shall throw caution to the wind and let the spiders of Mirkwood feast upon your rotten flesh. That is if I let you live to see Mirkwood Forest. Do I make myself clear?" He stabbed his staff into the ground causing a noticeable tremble about them.

Gollum feared the wizard and it showed on his face and body. He gasped at the moving of the earth and knew he had better obey. He hurriedly shook his head up and down.

The wizard grumpily snorted and turned back around, holding the sagging rope in his hand. The centuries of his life had come to this, leading a wretched Gollum safely through Mirkwood forest to Thranduil's cavern stronghold in the north. He remembered brighter days, so long ago that the memories had almost faded to a dull mist. He vaguely remembered the blessed realm, and the peace of his existence there. However, he could with distinction, recall Manwe's face clearly. As he trudged onward toward the darkened forest ahead, he could still feel Iluvatar's presence about him and took heart. How the troubles of this Middle Earth weighed upon him. The failure of the line of kings disheartened him the most for in their veins, Numenorian blood still flowed. He glanced at his ring upon his hand. He remembered stepping off the graceful boat and onto the shores of Arda. Cirdan the shipwright had greeted him and passed to him the third ring, Narya the Great, with it's fiery red stone. He chuckled to himself as he thought of words long past said concerning the kindling of hearts with the ring. His own heart needed some kindling. In some ways Mithrandir resented the restraint placed on him by Manwe to use his full force and powers to overthrow Sauron. He resented the form of man that he had been forced to assume. He sighed dejectedly. This body aged and ached, causing him pain. He suddenly felt pity for man. Living was indeed a slow death, where the various parts of the body slowly failed the spirit. Mithrandir longed to return home and be free of this imposed bondage. But a faithful servant he was and would continue to be until the end of all things. He only hoped that once he was free, he would never be asked to return.

But for the time being, he was determined to finish his assigned task. Aragorn.

He thought of the man behind him. Would Aragorn fail? Or would he fulfill the destiny that threatened to bend his back and etched his brow with lines of worry? Would he reunite the race of man, the lands Gondor and Arnor? Or would he fail miserably like so many before him? Would he rise to the challenge or crush beneath the weight of it?

Mithrandir could not see all possible paths lying before them. But he knew without reservation that Gollum would certainly play an important part on the stage of Middle Earth.

"But I cannot interfere with or usurp the free will of any living being, the last charge given me by Manwe. I cannot." He grunted under his breath. He grimaced. His journey had been a long one, and there had been many hardships. Yet he was not without friends. Many he had made on his pilgrimages throughout Middle Earth. His favorite creatures were the hobbits. They could be infuriating, but in a few he took delight.

He also felt saddened. Bilbo Baggins had the one ring. He knew it. He felt it. He didn't want to admit it. But he had to face the reality of the situation. Many would die because of the malice contained within that golden circle of evil. He hoped his little hobbits would survive oncoming doom facing the races of Arda.

The crunch beneath his feet drew him out of his reverie. Another step and the small traveling party would be inside Mirkwood. He stopped and examined the path before them. This part had fallen to the shadow.

Branches were twisted and gnarled, interwoven with blackened vines that choked out the sunlight. A narrow path lay before them inside of a tunnel of dead tree and vine, and did not look inviting. He felt the heavy depression of the darkness on the forest and sighed. It could not be helped. His goal was on the other side, and to travel around would add precious time that he could not spare.

"Have courage, we are nearly there," he spoke aloud to his companions, "stay close to me, and stay on the path. Do not for any reason leave the path, for when you do, your own death awaits you." He looked at Aragorn. The man certainly had heard stories concerning the inhabitants of Mirkwood and fear flitted across his face, then quickly disappeared.

Mithrandir thought that it was a good sign that the man had enough common sense to be afraid, yet enough courage to face those fears. Elrond had chosen Aragorn's name well, Estel.


	4. Chapter 4

Elrond

Elrond sat quietly in his study, his brow heavy with burden. The master and lord of Imladris burrowed his prominent forehead with worry producing wrinkles. He prayed the current bitter cup of his life would pass to another. Elrond was weary and knew that his time in Middle Earth was ending, as well as the era of his elven kind. He knew the mantle of responsibility would come to rest upon the race of man, and he feared for the future of Arda.

What was the race of man but a shadow of the past glory of the Numenorian age? Moreover, even the best of them had failed in his duty.

Duty. Lord Elrond snorted. Isildur had held the fate of all races in his hands and had failed in his duty to destroy the evil and protect the innocent.

Weak. The race of man had become despots more concerned with the names of their ancestors than the future of their own children; greed and false piety ruled the actions of the now pitiful beings. Elrond held his face in the palms of his hands with his elbows resting on the surface of his desk.

Where was the greatness of that particular race? Had the bloodlines truly been spent and diluted by lesser men?

Even though the sun still shined brightly, sharing her warmth with all living beings of the light, Elrond could feel the evil undercurrent of the dreaded Dark Lord spreading it's tentacles like a disease, infecting the willing, seeking to destroy any who would stand.

Where was the strength to withstand, to fight and conquer the enemy? Elrond raised his head and stared wistfully out of an open window to his right. He could hear the chirping of his feathered friends resting in the branches of the Birchwood's that grew happily in his realm. He changed his attention to the inside of his study. The walls were lined floor to ceiling with shelves that housed great books of wisdom, literature, poetry, and histories of Middle Earth. Would there be any free person left to care for this vast repository culled from every corner of the lands and peoples?

Free will. Elrond pondered that thought. He knew that the free will of every living person of Arda was in danger of slavery to the encroaching oppression of the despised enemy. In frustration, Elrond slammed his fists onto his dark mahogany desk.

The elves were leaving Middle Earth in droves. They were no longer the saving grace of Middle Earth. There were too few, and the ones left were not powerful enough alone to destroy the Dark Lord and his minions. He sighed a long and defeated breath of air as a cloud passed in front of the sun, temporarily dimming the available light.

Elrond gently fingered the ring on his left hand. Entrusted with its care, he dared not to use its power. He knew that in the moment of its use, he and Imladris would become a bright shining target for Sauron. He also knew that he and his realm would not long survive a massive assault from Barad Dur.

The cloud passed and bright light enveloped Imladris again. A tiny spark of hope soothed Elrond's troubled thoughts, Estel.

In his adopted ward lay the hope of all races of Middle Earth. Elrond sensed the blood of the Numenorian's ran strong in that one's veins. Nevertheless, Estel also brought the doom of men upon one of Elrond's own cherished children, Arwen. Elrond both loved and hated Estel.

Who was that whelp to bring a death sentence upon his daughter? "A future king of men," he answered his own thoughts aloud . Elrond knew he was trapped in a losing situation and the Evenstar doomed. Elrond knew that if Estel did not rise to his inheritance, Middle Earth and all who lived would forever fall. Therefore, the master of Imladris had held the one thing that he knew would spur the hesitant Estel into his destiny and rightful place, permission to wed the beloved Arwen.

But could he allow the sacrifice of his only daughter? Elrond had hoped that once Estel was away fulfilling destiny, that he could somehow save the Evenstar from such a terrible demise. The descendants of Elrond were bound to his own fate by degree of the blessed ones, the Valar. His children would retain their immortality so long as they sailed to Valinor with their father. Should they remain behind, they would receive a long life, but in the end would share the fate of man, death.

Elrond knew that he could not stay in Middle Earth. He felt tired even in his bones. To linger in Middle Earth, the elf lord would have to endure his own fading and eventual death. He had not forgotten his sacred promise to join his wife, Celebrian in Valinor. A pang of sorrow cut through the elf's heart at her memory. She had sailed so long ago it felt like another age of time. The tortures and torments she had suffered after being captured by those filthy orcs during a trip to visit her mother were such a threat to her continuing existence, he had had no choice but to allow her to sail to the undying lands. He loved her more than his own life and had willingly submitted himself to her request that he would join her when he heard the call to come home. If he could not somehow convince Arwen to sail with him, he would forever lose her. He did not know how he would be able to face Celebrain…Could she fade there in Valinor from such grief that news of that magnitude would surely bring.

If he did not succeed with Arwen, and Estel did defeat the seemingly insurmountable odds against him, Elrond would be forced to keep his word and give his daughter in marriage, effectively giving permission for her to die. Elrond bowed his head in grief. There was no victory for him, regardless of the outcome. His portion was indeed bitter.


	5. Chapter 5

**Thranduil**

**by Bethuviel**

_**Disclaimer: The estate of J.R.R. Tolkien owns all recognizable characters from the works of literature encompassing The Lord of the Rings. I receive no compensation for any work I have written and/or published on this site.**_

Thranduil sat on his throne. His day had begun well, but that had quickly changed. He ran his hands over the intricate designs of the armrests and shifted his feet. His son and crowned heir, Legolas stood at his side motionless.

Thranduil's worst fears had come to haunt him in the form of a wizard, a raggedly human, and a creature that stank to the halls of Mandos, all who were standing before his throne. He disliked the wizard, Mithrandir. Searching his memory, he could not recall a time that that particular visitor did not bear ill news, which darkened his halls and thoughts. How he fervently wished the wizard, who now was in obvious league with humans, would disappear from his presence and never return.

He turned his attention to the man, noting his appearance. It irked him that one would dare to appear in audience in such dishevels, disregarding the accepted traditions of formality. Thranduil discerned that he was looking upon the son of Arathorn and knew well the implications of the human's heritage and prophesies concerning his bloodline. Nevertheless, Thranduil harbored a paramount hatred and distrust of humans, since the death of his father, Oropher, in the Battle of the Last Alliance.

Thranduil followed the elven rope from Arathorn's hand to the pitiful creature Mithrandir had called Gollum hunched at the end in obvious discomfort. He reserved some doubts as to the creature's nature, and especially the assertion that it had escaped from the land of death, Mordor. Thranduil cared not for the favor being asked of him and his kingdom. He shifted his weight on his throne and stared down through slited lids again at Mithrandir.

What choice did he have except to grant the assistance asked of him? It was true that the shadow had risen again. He could feel it. He snorted with disgust at the remembrance of Isildor's failure to end this conflict that had claimed and destroyed so many lives. Moreover, here stood the heir of those loins in his very throne room.

He thought of his son, Legolas. What sort of an inheritance would he be able to lay claim in Middle Earth, and how would this returned enemy affect him, his descendants and own realm?

Thranduil knew his uninvited visitors grew weary of standing. He signaled his son to his ear and whispered instructions to grant the cursed wizard all his needs. His son obediently nodded his head.

"Follow me," Legolas' voice filled the hall. Thranduil noted the relief that washed over Mithrandir's face. A small contingent of the royal guard fell in step with their prince and around the intruders who had discomforted their king.

Thranduil rose, waved his hand with a quick flip through the air to dismiss his court, and then retired to his private chambers.

**oOo**

Sitting in his favorite overstuffed chair, Thranduil mulled the future. He knew this day would come and had dreaded it with every cell of his being. He reached for a decanter of his favorite wine, uncorked the top of the crystal container and breathed deeply allowing the aroma to saturate his senses. He took a glass from off his side table and intently poured the richly colored liquid inside of it. A fire crackled in the hearth near his feet, casting a warm glow on the dark wood paneling of his quarters.

Without pausing, Thranduil drained the glass feeling no guilt about his common behavior.

Preparations would have to be made. With the return rise of the Dark Lord, invasion would be immanent. There would be no safe place in all of Middle Earth. He would not retreat; he would not surrender. It was indeed a time to stand or fall forever. Thranduil gritted his teeth. This would be the doom of the current age and its outcome would determine the future of all who lived, no matter the race. He poured himself another glass of wine, and slowly sipped letting the full flavor bathe his mouth.

The afternoon turned into evening. Thranduil did not attend his banquet hall, but instead sat behind his desk in his study, thoughtfully penning his plans in the defense of his kingdom and people.

**oOo**

_**Author's note: **__All reviews, whether critical or applauding are appreciated. _


	6. Chapter 6

**Arwen**

by Bethuviel

_Disclaimer: The estate of J.R.R. Tolkien owns all recognizable characters from the works of literature encompassing The Lord of the Rings. I receive no compensation for any work I have written and/or published on this site._

**oOo**

Delicate fingers brushed over a flawless neckline in the gardens of Imladris. She had given him a token representative of her precious love. He had given her nothing but his own solemn word and vow. The vibrant memory swept through Arwen's mind as she sat down on a small stone bench under a small grove of birch wood trees. She felt the wind lightly dancing across her skin and bowed her head in thought.

That memory was as real to her now as the moment it had been created. Sorrow laced her sigh when she recalled the warmth and texture of his skin as he tried to place the jewel back in her hand. She longed to feel his touch again, if only for a few seconds. Her heart felt like an empty expanse of wasteland, desolate without him, starving on memories of so many yesterdays. Her eyes brimmed with bitter tears as she stood up, walked over to a particularly large tree, and leaned on it for strength.

She pursed her lips and swallowed the emotions threatening to overtake her composure. Arwen would not cry, not here in the open where someone might see her weakness. She would not allow anyone to know the depths of her sorrow and grief.

The grief of his absence was akin to losing a loved one to death. But he was very much alive, facing unknown dangers and threats to his life. It was this very fact that threatened to drive Arwen to madness. She would submit to any exaction to obtain the boon of his eternal presence. However, he was mortal, and therein laid the sting of thorns in her purposed rose bed.

She hid herself behind the tree in order to put her face into her hands. She had committed to him her heart; in that act, she harbored no regrets. Arwen was torn between the love she held for Estel, and the love she felt for her parents, Elrond and Celebrain.

Her mother awaited her in the undying lands. Her father was very much opposed to her union with a mortal. Elrond wished for Arwen to accompany him across the sea to Valinor. Her fate of immortality was tied directly to Elrond. She knew that by refusing his wishes to sail, she would lose her immortality in Middle Earth. Arwen accepted the price her love for an immortal would claim. Her father laid the dire consequences of her choice before her plainly. Still, she had refused him.

She despised being used as a trophy by her father to force Estel onto his path of destiny. Should her beloved fall forever from the world of the living, Arwen would never forgive her father, and would soon follow Estel to Mandos' Halls. Life held no meaning for her without him.

Leaning with her back against the trunk, she raised her head and stared into the sparse vegetation above her. Fall was passing quickly to winter and she could smell the brisk cold of snow on the faint breeze that caressed her skin. She breathed deeply to regain her self, cleansing away the menacing darkness that threatened to seduce her fae.

Through the branches, she saw the faint light of Earendil grow sharply and flash in the late afternoon sky. There was yet hope in Arda. She would cling to that one promise of a future filled with peace, and joy; not only for her beloved and she, but for all the peoples of Middle Earth.

She stood straight and the grace that was hers alone as Undomiel, the Evenstar of her people, enveloped and radiated from her. The evidence of her worry disappeared, for she refused to pay interest on a debt she did not owe, and Arwen would not let it be her master.

She smoothed her hair, turned and walked slowly back to her father's house. She knew that it was close to time for the evening meal and she had to prepare herself to sit at Elrond's table.

**oOo**

_AN: I hope you enjoyed this new chapter. All reviews, whether critical or acclaiming are appreciated._


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